Less Than Three
by nolapeep
Summary: “Anyway… I got an email, last night,” Danny continued, picking at his toast. “Well...” Danny looked Sam and I in the eyes before going on. “It said that the person who sent it to me ‘less than three’-d me.”
1. Less Than Three

Chapter One  
of _Less Than Three_

**(Sam's POV)**

I sat at the computer, once again, staring at the screen. It showed a blank email, already addressed to Danny Fenton. The little indicator-thingy blinked rapidly, amusing me. I fiddled with the edge of the mouse-pad. You know, that one with the picture of Tucker, Danny, and me at the last Halloween party at our school, last October. My hippie costume contained a ton of pink, red, and green streaks in my hair, too much lipstick, mascara, and eyeliner, and that freaky tie-dyed shirt and skirt that Danny and Tucker had just a few minutes earlier.

Tucker was dressed up as a couch potato, not at _all_ taking the phrase a little too seriously. Haha, did you get that? I used sarcasm in the last part of the sentence. He wore shorts and – get this – an _actual _potato sac! And for the _couch _part, he attached a foam "chair" to his butt. It was hysterical.

Then, there was Danny. What was his costume, may you ask? Well, he was a beach bum. Complete with the swim trunks (and no shirt!), hair in a funny-looking ponytail (that he and his sister had spent hours doing that simple ponytail), and the paper made imitation of a beer. To tell you the truth, that Halloween party was one of the first ones I _actually_ enjoyed. It was very amusing to watch Tucker and Danny attempt to dance, with the punch being spiked and all. By Dash, too! And they had, at least, six drinks every hour. So, Tucker and Danny were on the dance floor looking like drunks. Tucker was the only one who was on the dance floor looking like an idiot – except for Danny who always looked like an idiot. No offense! Not that he can read this, or anything… Anyway, back to the story.

I clicked around the computer for a few minutes, trying to decide whether to actually write him the email or not. I mean, yeah, I knew that he wouldn't even know that I had sent it. (I made up an email address just for this purpose. I know what you're thinking, but shut up anyway.) But, just the _thought _of writing this email scared the crap out of me. I mean, for the first time in my life, I would have been able to tell him how I feel. And with him not knowing I even said it, too! I mean, it was a win-win situation. But I was too much of a coward to do it.

Finally, gathering up the courage – in, oh, about three hours – I typed those three words: _I love you. _Then, I was like, "Why say it so frankly?" to myself. Why be so bold and take this chance a little too far? Then I backspaced and rephrased the statement: _I heart you. _"There we go," I smiled to myself. "Much better." And with another thought, my smile faded away and turned into a smile. _I heart you_? That sounded like a second-grader statement. "I sound so immature!" I angrily thought to myself as I angrily pounded the backspace button. The indicator-thingy continued to blink as I gazed into space, trying to figure out the right thing to type. _I love you _was too frank and-slash-or bold. _I heart you _sounded too ridiculous and babyish. I wanted to tell him without _actually _telling him. You know what I mean? I wanted the boy to – for once in his life – think!

I placed my chin in my hands, my elbows equally propped up underneath them. I closed my eyes and searched for the right way to say that I loved him. Not to sound like a hopeless romantic, but I actually did love him. I knew everything about him and how he acts and what he expects in life and what he doesn't. I needed him to complete my life and I knew he needed me – whether he knew that or not. Wait… I _do _sound like a hopeless romantic. Haha!

You know how people draw those hearts? Well, I started to wonder how they drew them on the computer screen. You know, the hearts in the back of the notebook and in the binder and in the diary? Well, how do you do that on a computer? I minimized my email and clicked onto another file. I searched for the email that my cousin had sent me a few days ago. When I got to it, I smiled to myself and inspected how to do exactly that. After a few seconds, I turned back to my email and copied the simple message to Danny. _I _**(less than sign)**_3 you. _But then, I was like, "Oh… That's too childish, too!" I hammered the backspace – for the millionth time – then sat there, stumped. Everything I did was "too childish." Or so it seemed. What would be the right balance?

Then it came to me. I swiftly molded my hands to the keyboard and typed those five words. These words said what I needed them to say, but they were in a code… sort of… I looked at the screen and smiled victoriously. _I less than three you. _"Very good, very good." I was greatly pleased with myself. I had finally accomplished my goal.

I modified the font, the size, the color, the color of the background, then made sure he wouldn't be able to tell it was me who sent the message (because I would be so embarrassed if Danny knew). When I was finally finished, I read through the very simple message once more (_I less than three you_) then moved the mouse to the top of the page. I breathed in, and pressed send.

Then I had a panic attack.

_Oh my God. Did I actually do that? Oh my…Oh…Oh God… Did I? Did I press send?! Did I actually _type _that?! And I pressed send. Oh great. Oh…Oh God…Oh great. Jeez. _I rapidly pressed the cancel at least twenty times. Like so:

Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click!  
Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click!

Wait… Make that twenty-one.

"Did it stop?" I wondered out loud as I watched the screen intensely, waiting to see what would happen.

"Your message has been canceled. Thank you for your services."

I breathed in deeply before being able to breathe at all again. I did all that work for nothing. I sat at the computer for five hours, wondering how to tell him… And then I didn't even send it.

I was a chicken; I was a coward.

And dang proud of it.


	2. Email Received

Chapter Two  
of _Less Than Three_

**(Danny's POV)**

I sat at the computer, once again, playing my favorite PC game. If you just go to , click a certain link, then you'll find it. It's called the Falling Sand Game. It's amazing! You could sit there for hours, not noticing the holes burning through your head, and watch sand fall. It's so addicting. I swear!

Anyway, I was so into it, I almost didn't notice one of my other windows blinking orange. I maximized it to find my yahoo email pop up. It said I had one unread message. I thought "Um, okay…" to myself, then clicked it open.

And this is where I became puzzled. The email wouldn't say whom it was from. That was one thing that crept my out. Don't they usually let you know who sent you an email? Or, maybe, I wasn't supposed to know. Alarms started going off in my head at that point.

And then, the message scared me. _I less than three you_. What the heck did that mean?! Less than three? Did it mean that, to whoever sent this retarded and confusing email, I was less valuable than the number three? I sat there, stumped, staring at the screen.

Why would someone send this to me? They probably knew I wasn't doing to understand the message. Did they want me to receive the email so I could have even more low self-confidence? Well, their message ticked me off. How was I supposed to know what "_less than three_" meant? I was only a fourteen-year-old who was all caught up in, like, forty different things. I had school – includingMr. Lancer, my parents being totally "different" and "unique" and definitely _embarrassing_, my sister (who knew about my "special powers" and felt like being over-protective and crabby and bossy), and my "special powers" (being a halfa – half ghost, half normal kid) and having to deal with the annoying interruptions of my life because of all the weird ghosts escaping the Portal.

I was not about to let some stranger stress me out too because of some phrase I can't comprehend AT ALL.

_I less than three you_.

What the heck did that mean?!


	3. Lunch

Chapter Three  
of _Less Than Three_

**(Tucker's POV)**

I walked up to my friends, then sat down, placing my cafeteria tray on the table in front of me. I looked down at my "lunch" and grimaced. It looked like plastic frog puke. I glanced around, wordlessly pushing my tray away. I faced my friends as they chuckled at my actions.

"This lunch is gross, today," I stated the obvious. I don't know why, but I had been doing that lately. Stating the obvious. Moving on. Danny laughed as he picked at his bowl of Jell-O.

"_Any_ lunch including the ingredients of any food that has a face is gross." Sam bluntly pointed that out as she took a bite of her vegetarian pizza.

"That's not what I meant," I eyed Sam as she continued to chew on her clearly edible meal. "I was saying that my 'lunch' doesn't even _look_ like it's food." I rolled my eyes as Sam did the same, then turned to Danny.

"What did you get?" I asked, gazing at his home-brought lunch. It looked edible. Yay!

"My dad packed me some of his all-time-famous Fenton Toast, for some reason," Danny answered as he swallowed some of his food. Hey, if it looked safe to eat, I would stuff it down my throat. No matter what it was. And Fenton Toast was an exception.

"So…" Danny cleared his throat, looking anxiously around the cafeteria. I watched him as he cracked his knuckles nervously, acting very jittery.

"Hey, man, what's wrong?" I heard myself say. _Uh-oh. Didn't mean to say that out loud. Whoops. _

"Oh, nothing…" Danny replied, not looking me in the eye. I could've sworn he was hiding something. So, I continued to pressure him into telling Sam and I.

"No, seriously, Danny," I met Sam's gaze, silently asking her what she thought was wrong. She just shrugged, starting to take a swig of her milk carton. I knew something was going on, but I just couldn't place my finger on it. "Spill."

Danny sighed, finally caving in. "I got an email, last night," he started, fiddling with the end of his paper bag. As soon as he said those six words, Sam stated to choke on her milk, coughing and wheezing like there was no tomorrow. I somehow found this funny (don't ask me how) and started to laugh. It was like a conspiracy! As soon as Danny acknowledged that he had gotten an email the previous night, Sam started to choke on her beverage. Like she knew something about it. Also, like he wasn't supposed to say anything about it.

Danny stopped mid-sentence, turning to get a good look at Sam. Her face was red and blotchy, her eyes puffy. It looked like she was dying! If I didn't know any better, I would've sworn she was blushing. But, she was choking. I decided to let her off the hook, yet I was going to keep this event in mind.

"You okay?" Danny finally asked, pounding her on the back, but that caused Sam to wheeze some more. After coughing for a full ten minutes, Sam concluded the happening with a jolt of a sneeze and a tiny reassurance of an "I'm fine, I'm fine," said in a whisper.

"Anyway… I got an email, last night," Danny continued, picking at his toast.

I cut in, "Sam made that point."

Both Danny and Sam glared at me as I shrunk into my seat. Jeez, what was up with these two? "Moving on," Danny muttered before clearing his voice. "I got an email that said something I couldn't understand."

I watched Sam as she involuntarily leaned in, like she was hanging on his every word. Like he was going to say something that she had been waiting years for.

"Well," Danny looked Sam and I in the eyes before going on, "it said that the person who sent it to me 'less than three'-d me." I glanced up to find Sam clutching her stomach like she was sick, her skin being as pale as cement. I found this interesting.

" 'Less than three' ?" I wondered aloud. "What the heck would that mean?"

"I know!" Danny agreed. "I couldn't sleep, last night. That email freaked me out. I mean, some stranger emailing me and telling me that they 'less than three'-d me. What the heck?!" I could clearly see that Danny was upset about not knowing what the email meant. It bothered him as much as I did. But, there was something he was not noticing.

Sam.

Every word out of his mouth caused Sam to turn paler and paler by the second. I took this into consideration. What would Sam know that would make her this sick to the stomach? _Unless… No… That couldn't be it_.

"So, Sam, what do you have to say about this?" Danny turned to find Sam whiter than before. He gasped suddenly, but then seemed to ignore the fact that his best friend was as pale as snow. But he was also oblivious to Sam loving him, so it didn't make that much of a difference.

_BRIIIIIIIIIINGGGGGGG._

The bell rang for dismal. I watched as Danny left the cafeteria, and Sam scurry out the door.

And then it hit me.

Love. Heart. Writing in the back of journals…diaries…notebooks… But how would you write them on a computer screen? Using symbols. Just like: a _less than _symbol and 3.

_I less than three you_. Less than and three equal a heart, and a heart equals love.

And Sam loves Danny.

Boy, was she clever. Danny would've never known what that meant. But, that was because he'd never try to look to deep into the phrase.

I took one look at Sam, and wordlessly told her I knew. She grew even paler, her cheeks redder than blood. She knew I knew. But we both knew that Danny didn't know. It was working out perfectly, the way she wanted. By the way I saw it, Sam didn't mean to send him that message, but she did anyway, without knowing. But she was intelligent enough to put her confession in a way Danny wouldn't be able to understand. She told him, but he didn't comprehend the message. But it was okay.

Because Sam got to finally let out her feelings, anyway.


End file.
